Twas the Night Before
by MsCongeniality
Summary: Snapshots of a journey, two men make the transition from lost to found. Transitions never go smoothly.


_**A/N:** Originally written for Yuletide 2005, hence the holiday setting. After much deliberation, I've decided to continue this so…here is chapter one._

_Set after Book 10 and before Shin PetShop of Horrors, but due my lack of knowledge of Japanese, that series has a limited influence. I'm afraid that I've injured Leon a bit more extensively than we saw at the end of 'D...' but hopefully the situations I've taken from that make up for it somewhat._

* * *

**December 24, Los Angeles**

Leon watched the door close, and it was only after he heard his former partner's steps heading down the hall that he allowed himself to collapse heavily into a chair. She'd been right, of course; Jill usually was when it came to analyzing people and their motives. That cool insight acted as a counterweight to his own more instinctual style of investigation and was a big part of what had made them an effective team, but having it focused on his own life rather than a suspect's got unnerving.

The visit had started well enough. Even if Leon had managed to forget the holiday, he appreciated that she still thought about him and seemed determined he not be alone. They'd managed a pleasant hour or so as Jill filled him in on the office gossip and internal politicking he'd missed. It was only after they'd exhausted the small talk that she'd crossed her arms and turned to him with a slight frown.

"I'm worried about you."

As opening volleys went, it could have been a lot worse. Leon had been bracing himself for a long lecture, but instead relaxed slightly and sat back in his chair to wait for the rest.

Jill's frown deepened at his apparent lack of response and she redoubled her efforts. "I'm more than worried, Leon. I'm beginning to get seriously concerned."

Leon gave a mental wince—he'd suspected she was going to go down that road, but that wasn't going to make the conversation any more fun. He kept his tone light as he replied,"Worried…about what? I already told you those idiot docs are letting me off disability next month. There's nothing left to worry about, I'll be back at work in no time."

Jill shook her head and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're either more blind than usual or you're deliberately avoiding the subject. That's not what's bothering me, you've…" She paused, as though weighing her words, before firmly concluding, "You've changed these past few months."

This, Leon thought, he could deal with. He leaned back and waved his hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. "Changed? Is that all that's bothering you? Of _course_ I've changed, what kind of man could spend all day forced to sit on his ass doing nothing and still be himself? You've spent too much time in the self-help aisle or something, you're reading too much into it."

Her eyes narrowed and Jill leaned forward, looking for all the world like a cat that had cornered its prey.

"Am I?"

She gestured towards the window and continued, her words dripping with acid. "It may not be Currier and Ives out there, but it doesn't take a _Detective_ to figure out it's Christmas. I know your mobility's been limited, but even you can't have missed it."

Jill paused again to give Leon an assessing look. When she spoke, both her tone and expression had softened and become more even. "You did, though, and I'm willing to bet you haven't called your brother, either. Have you, Leon? Did you call Chris and wish him a Merry Christmas?"

Leon shifted uncomfortably, breaking away from the weight of Jill's gaze. This was _definitely_ heading back into the 'not so good' territory. "Well, not yet…but the day's not over, I've still got plenty of time."

Jill threw her hands up in exasperation. "I take it all back! All of it, every defense I've ever made of your half-baked theories and stupid ideas. The Chief is right, you really _are_ the biggest idiot in the history of the Department!"

Leon's head snapped back as though he'd been hit. He'd been good, he'd been keeping it under control while she played pop psychologist, but she was really going too far with this shit. He glared at his partner, as though daring her to heap on the extra layer of abuse he knew was coming.

Responding to Leon's look of pure rage, Jill leaned forward again, speaking slowly and with real venom as she over-enunciated and over-emphasized her words. "It's _dark out,_ Leon, Chris is _back East_ which means he's probably already in bed having visions of sugarplums."

They held each other's gazes for a long moment after that, until Jill sat back heavily. After an awkward pause, she shook her head and quietly continued. "After everything Chris has been through, after what _you_ put him through…." She looked up, her expression almost pained. "You didn't have to _see_ him in the hospital, scared to death that his 'Big Bro' wasn't going to wake up this time. After _all_ of that you can't even drag yourself out of this fog you've been in long enough to remember to give him a call."

She shook her head again, "No, that's _not_ the Leon I know. You've _changed_."

"You," Leon spat, "are full of shit." He'd done his best to keep his cool, but Jill was over the line now, _way_ over the line.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about. I'm still _me_, I'm still the same guy you always force this touchy-feely crap on, and I'm not in the fucking mood to put up with it. I'm not doing _anything_ to Chris! So I haven't called him yet, so what? It's not like today is Christmas anyway."

As he spoke, Leon reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His gestures seemed almost automatic as he tapped one out of the pack and stuck it between his lips, and it wasn't until he needed to draw on the cigarette while lighting it that he missed a beat in his words. He took in a deep breath and exhaled a long stream of smoke as he concluded, "and besides, he'll forget all about me anyway when he's opening his gifts with his family. There's nothing _for_ him to remember."

Jill watched him and the comfort he seemed to take in rote gestures. She smiled slightly, but shook her head. "Well, there's a little of the Leon I know, anyway." She raised a finger to chide him. "But still, it's not like you to dismiss your brother this way."

Leon bristled at her tenacity, "I told you, he'll be fine with his _family._"

"They're your family, too, Leon. Unless…" as her words trailed off, Jill brought her finger to her lips, her eyes going distant as if absorbed by a stray thought.

Leon looked away, focusing on the smoldering tip of his cigarette. "Unless what?"

"Unless," Jill said brightly, "that's not what's bothering you."

Almost despite himself, Leon glanced back before turning away again. "What the hell are you talking about now?" he muttered. "_You're_ the only thing that's bothering me. Stop playing amateur shrink and say something that makes some fucking sense."

"How about this, then?" Jill said, leaning towards him. "Just a couple of months ago, your brother was a big part of your life; now I bet you couldn't even tell me when you last spoke to him. One _year_ ago, you went out of your way to make up for working on Christmas Eve by dressing as Santa Claus, and _now_ you hadn't even given him a thought until I asked you."

"What the hell?" Leon shook his head and stubbed the cigarette out, almost as emphasis. "I said 'make some fucking sense,' not 'repeat everything you just yelled at me'! You're being ridiculous."

"No, I'm not," came the cool reply. "In fact, I think I'm finally piecing things together."

Great, here it comes, he thought, and smiled bitterly. "What, some great fucking mystery that only you can see? Careful…the Chief is gonna say you're just like…" Leon's expression went slack as his voice trailed off.

"Just like what?" Jill asked brightly. "Just like you with Count D?"

Leon scowled his response, and busied himself by taking another cigarette.

"That's it, isn't it? You don't want to talk to Chris because he wants to talk to you about the Count."

Leon glared, not at Jill, but at the end of his cigarette as he struggled with his lighter.

"No, it's more than that. You've changed because _he's_ not here."

That was it, Leon had finally had enough. Before he even realized he was doing it, he slammed the uncooperative lighter down on the table hard enough to knock over one of the empty beer cans.

"Stop! Just…stop it! You're taking this crap too far!"

"Am I really?" Jill's eyes narrowed, and her voice took on the 'professional' tone he was more accustomed to hearing her use when analyzing casework. "Yes, you were badly hurt in that mess, but it's not like you've never been injured that badly before, and you've never been this affected by it—that's just not in your nature. Therefore, it stands to reason that there is something else affecting you, something to do with that day, and something that is keeping you from having a normal relationship with your brother. What else could it _be_ but Count D?"

"What could it be?" Leon exploded. "Try just about any-fucking-thing else. Try the leftover paranoid nightmares from what that bastard's crazy-ass father did to me. They…those _things_ are dead or gone, and it's good riddance, but they're not the source of all that's wrong in the world and they're sure as shit not what's wrong with _me_." He paused briefly, and his eyes narrowed.

"Get out."

Jill seemed taken aback, she held up one hand as though trying to calm him. "Leon, come on—"

He simply shook his head in response. "No, you heard me. Get the _fuck_ out of my apartment. Now." Grabbing his cane, Leon leveraged himself into a standing position. "I've had enough of these goddamned games. I want you out of here. Go spread your fucking holiday cheer someplace else."

Her face drew into a disapproving frown, but Jill did as he asked. She rose from her seat quietly and gathered the light sweater and purse she had brought with her. Then, pausing at the door, she turned back to Leon. "Promise me you'll at least call your brother tomorrow? You can think about what I said…" she blanched slightly at the look he gave her in response. "Or not, but don't let Chris lose you, too."

"Just get out," he said firmly but quietly.

Jill reached for the doorknob, then looked back with one last, half-hearted smile. "Merry Christmas, Leon."

With that she left, closing the door firmly behind her. The tension lingered, though, and it was a long moment before Leon allowed himself to move away from the door and collapse heavily back into his chair. He turned towards the window, replaying the whole conversation from start to finish before lapsing into deep thought.

* * *

**December 25, Paris**

A lone figure stood on the Pont de Bercy, looking along the grey length of the river Seine towards the Île de la Cité, now lost in the night and fog. "City of Light, indeed," he mused, his perfect lips dipping briefly into a frown, then turning up at the corners as though he were enjoying some macabre, personal joke. A chill gust of wind whipped his cloak, briefly obscuring his vision before he could raise a hand to grab hold of the edge of his hood. He glanced back in the direction he had come, then turned into the wind and continued on towards the 13th Arrondissement and home.

A small bell chimed lightly as he closed and locked the door behind him. The room brightened and warmed to his presence, and its inhabitants came forward in ones and twos to greet their Master. The most familiar among them, a young girl carefully dressed in curls, frills, and flounces, fairly bounded across the room to take his hand.

"Count, you're back!"

The large hood of the cloak fell back to reveal a porcelain face graced with an indulgent smile. "Yes, Pon-chan," he said smoothly, squeezing her hand lightly before releasing it, "and just in time to bring you your Christmas cake."

The young girl's face lit up as she held her hands out, expectantly. "Really, Count? I didn't think you'd find _any_ bakery in Paris that was open on _Christmas, _let alone at this hour."

D produced a white box from beneath his cloak and delivered it to her waiting hands. "Open?" he said with a slight shake of his head, "perhaps not." He took a step away from her and pulled the cloak from his shoulders. "But Grandfather's name still gets me through _some_ closed doors in this city and that includes Le Triomphe. The owner prepared my 'Joyeux Noël' confection himself and was only too glad to hold it until I had finished with my client."

D left his cloak at the front entrance, and was straightening the cuffs of his cheongsam when he heard a half-muttered reply from the back of the shop.

"I suppose that means you want me to put tea on for you."

Clasping his hands in front of him, D turned towards the speaker, a young man with wild hair and a feral gleam in his eye. From the vantage point he'd taken at the rear of the shop, it was clear that he could watch over the entire room and guard the back hallway while still seeming to maintain his cool detachment. The Count smiled at this and shook his head slightly in response, "Not just yet, T-chan. I'm afraid there's a pet requiring my attention, first."

Count D crossed the room and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder, grazing the skin ever so lightly with his nails. Ignoring the totetsu's shiver, he gestured back towards the low table and said in a low voice, "Please, set out a variety of delicacies along with the cake. I will join you all for a small party to celebrate the shop being closed for the day in a short while."

The totetsu responded with a curt nod, and as he disappeared into the recesses of the shop, D could hear T-chan ordering his other pets around. A cacophony of activity spilled down the hallway as the totetsu set them to the task of preparing their Master's table to _his_ exacting standards. It was just as well; the pets were always less restless with a task to occupy them.

The noise and bustle soon faded as the Count unerringly made his way through the winding corridors, passing doors of all shapes and sizes until he came to the end of a hallway. Before him was a set of double doors marked with a dragon's crest, far larger and more ornate than any of those he had bypassed along the way. He paused briefly at the entrance to the Crystal Chamber, closing his eyes as though composing himself, then he pushed open the great door.

The chamber itself was dark, and it was not until he heard the sound of crying from the far end of the room that D knew just how badly he'd been needed. Suddenly the crying stopped, and a high childish voice, rich with frustration, cried out, "Who's there? Who **dares**!"

The Count stepped forward, coming more fully into the room and allowing himself to be illuminated by the light from the hallway before letting the heavy door drift shut behind him.

The tone of the childish voice shifted from angry to sullen. "Oh, it's you. You should knock before entering this chamber, you know!"

Count D took a few more steps into the room, head bowed to the regal creature before him. "I humbly apologize for the intrusion, Kanan. I was wondering, however. Perhaps you could tell me why it is that Junrei was crying just a moment ago." He continued walking until at last he could see the small, richly dressed figure standing atop her ornately carved throne. Honlon's eyes flashed, and she shook a fist at him.

"What kind of question is that? First you barge in where you're not wanted, and then you start asking impertinent questions."

"I am concerned for the well-being of all the inhabitants of this shop," he answered smoothly.

Honlon seemed to compose herself, still standing atop the cushioned seat of her throne. The young girl adopted a pose and demeanor very similar to that of the man facing her. "You know very well why Junrei cries," came her quiet reply.

Count D's expression did not change, remaining bland and respectful, but his words were tinged with humor. "Do I now, Shuko? Perhaps, then, I should follow Kanan's wishes and remove myself from your presence."

She gave a dismissive wave. "Don't play disingenuous with me, Count. It's not particularly becoming, and it serves no purpose here. There is only one reason for you to intrude on us on this day."

The Count inclined his head slightly and lowered his eyes before the majestic creature. "You are right as ever, Shuko. I _should_ know better than to try to conceal my motives from you." He looked up again and continued, "But that does not negate the importance of why I am here or the necessity of my question. I do worry about all the inhabitants of my shop, and it is only natural that I think of you this day, of all days."

The girl became agitated, taking hold of locks of her hair and pulling on them almost frantically. "But _Count_," came her plaintive cry. "We were only bound to Our Master a _year_ ago, and we haven't seen him in so _long_." Her eyes started to tear and her lower lip trembled. "And he's so _unhappy_…" her voice trailed off into a keening wail.

D's mask slipped briefly, a flash of uncertainty breaking across his features. "But you…Junrei, you can't mean that you actually know what Chris is feeling right now?"

Honlon suddenly ceased crying and let go of her hair, once more shaking a small fist at the Count. "What kind of question is that? Of course we do, it's a lifelong**bond**!"

Count D composed himself, still tense but with his façade again firmly in place. "I was aware of that, Kanan. I did _not_ know, however, that you were tied to your master so…closely."

"Its effect is lessened by distance, and may fade with time," the girl said calmly, "but as we are now, we still feel him keenly. Particularly when he is dreaming, or if, as now, he feels great emotional upset or longing."

The corners of the Count's mouth drew downwards, changing his pleasant mask to one of mild concern. "I see… Shuko, can you tell me what young Chris has to be upset about? It is Christmas and he is with his family, after all."

Honlon once more answered in a piercing childish wail. "He misses us," she said, sniffling as she tried to hold back her tears. "He misses _us_, and the _shop_, and _you,_ and…" she trailed off once again with a slight sob.

"And what, Junrei?" the Count prompted gently.

She looked up at him, her cheeks still wet from tears, but her eyes suddenly full of angry determination. "And his good-for-nothing brother."

Count D flinched and one hand reflexively curled into a fist. "Chris still has his older brother. I made sure that idiot would be alive to go back to him."

Honlon crossed her arms across her chest and turned away from the Count. "He's alive, alright," she said disdainfully, "but not in any way that matters."

The Count's voice grew quieter, his tone blandly even. "What do you mean by that?"

Turning back to face the Count more directly, Honlon once more brought her arms down by her side in a pose that seemed to mimic his and answered him in a similar, quiet tone. "We know what Chris knows. Leon doesn't call, and when his aunt and uncle talk about him, they do it in whispers. Chris is just scared by this but…" She shook her head and raised her hands to her face, her voice suddenly shrill. "But what? It _is_ scary! He doesn't know what's going on, only that his friends are _gone_ and most people don't think they even _exist_. He knows something's wrong with his _brother_ and nobody will talk to him about _that_. It's enough to scare anybody!"

Count D inclined his head towards the agitated girl, speaking softly. "I see, Junrei, that is indeed scary. But you were saying something about Chris…"

"He's _scared_!"

"Yes," he continued kindly, "but it seemed like there was something more Shuko had to say about that."

Still sniffling slightly, Honlon folded her hands in front of her. She responded in a much calmer voice, "Kanan thinks she knows why Chris's brother isn't calling." Then, balling up her fists, she continued in a shout, "Know? Of **course** I know. I know **exactly** what he's doing."

The Count winced slightly at the words, but responded in a bland tone. "Of course, Kanan, I should have a…ahh…greater appreciation of your unique insight into Detective-san's thinking—such as it is."

"Thinking? Ha!" Honlon raised one of her fists, her eyes gleaming in the pale light. "No, he's not thinking yet, he's just sulking and brooding." Count D frowned at this, looking away from the throne and focusing on the floor as the young girl continued in an acid tone. "He likes **facts**. He likes to understand how things **work** and when he doesn't, he gets frustrated by it." She pointed a small finger at the Count. "You confused him, you know. **That's** why he was so angry with you all the time."

Count D looked up again, eyes narrowed. "What does any of that have to do with him distancing himself from his brother?"

"Ha! And I thought you were smarter than that, Count!" the young girl fairly crowed. "I guess I shouldn't listen to Shuko." Honlon looked down at the Count, practically gloating. She waved a dismissive hand at him, despite obvious warning in his expression. "Chris has questions, ones he thinks Leon can answer. Leon doesn't know, which makes him angry, and he doesn't want to take that out on his brother."

Almost as punctuation to her statement, Honlon began trembling slightly. Then, after a moment, she began shaking her head as she shouted, "But he _does_! When he doesn't call, he really _is_ taking it out on Chris!"

The Count's eyes flashed, but when he spoke, his voice was even and controlled. "As close as you are with your Master, this is no longer a problem of my Pet Shop. There is nothing we can do about this."

"No," she responded, her tone once again defiant. "And it will get worse before it gets better." Honlon grinned at the Count. "Leon will go looking for his answers."

Count D stiffened in response to the implied challenge, but his expression remained bland. After a long moment, looking into the eyes of the young dragon, he finally asked, "How do you know this, Kanan?"

"Because," she said triumphantly, "that's what I would do."

* * *

**December 25, Los Angeles**

Leon tilted his head back, draining another beer to the dregs. He frowned at the empty bottle, staring at it almost accusingly for a long moment before setting it on the small table next to his chair. The addition was enough to upset the delicate balance of the already overflowing surface that had been piled high with the empty containers that were the sole mark of passing time on so many of his nights. A shower of empty cans and bottles clattered to the floor and Leon winced at the noise, disgusted with himself and what he had become. Then, with a muttered epithet, he reached over to grab his cane. Despite a slight beer buzz, he managed to leverage himself into a standing position and, with only the slightest wobble, made his way across the apartment to the small window.

He leaned against the windowsill and looked up into the overcast sky. The clouds had already faded from the muddy black-grey of night into the lighter, wispy grey that would burn off by mid-morning and bathe the city in sun. Leon was becoming far too familiar with these early morning hours and the rhythms of the city at dawn. The world seemed to have contracted until it was contained within the walls of his apartment, even the slice of city outside his window didn't quite seem real—it was too small, too controlled. There wasn't anything unpredictable about the scene outside anymore, familiarity had tamed it. He frowned again as he found himself unaccountably restless and frustrated.

Maybe it was the beer, but as the night wore on and he obsessively analyzed the argument he'd had with Jill, the facts had seemed to grow clearer and clearer. Leon wasn't sure when, but sometime around dawn the truth began to bear a startling resemblance to what Jill had been trying to tell him. It wasn't the first time she'd managed to cut through to the heart of something while he ran himself in circles around it, he was going to have to apologize for this one though. More than apologize, there was probably going to be groveling involved, but not just yet.

Recognizing the truth in what Jill had said was one thing, but he was going to have to think it through before seeing her again. He knew what she was like; if he went to her without a clear idea, or any kind of plan for how he was going to deal with this—whatever it was—she'd only start in on him again. For his own good, of course. He gave a wry grimace, and looked towards the kitchen, weighing the various merits of another beer and the effort that would be involved in making his way across the apartment to get one.

As bad as the damage to his leg had been, the initial pain didn't compare to the ongoing torture of physical therapy or the constant aggravation of not being able to do stupid, simple tasks. Not that he didn't appreciate all the doctors had done for him, or what he'd gotten back with their help, but he still acutely felt what it was he'd lost, possibly permanently.

Even when they allowed him to go back to work, the likelihood was that he was going to get stuck on a desk for some time and the longer you're on a desk, the harder it is to get back to active status. The thought of becoming one of those paper-pushing donut-guzzlers with a spare tire and no balls made Leon sick, and that was exactly the road he was heading down. That sobering realization cured him of the desire for another beer, and he pushed off from the windowsill again, making his way back to his chair.

Landing heavily in the seat, Leon let the cane fall to the floor just within reach and looked at the pathetic pile of detritus on the floor near his feet. Suddenly shamed, he leaned down and picked up the closest of the trash. He was reaching to put the bottle back on the table, but stopped, holding it somewhat incongruously in midair as he stared at what lay uncovered on the table. Finally he forced himself to move, putting the bottle down and picking up the crumpled foolscap that had been unearthed by the cascade of trash.

Chris' last drawing of the group of them, the one item of any value that D had left behind. Leon stared at is as though the paper could provide him an answer. Minute after minute ticked past, but he didn't move; he barely blinked. Considering, as he had so many times before, why it was that D had left that particular item behind. There was something in that picture, something that tied in to those truths Jill was trying to force on him—that drawing held the answers. With that realization, Leon's thinking took a sudden turn.

The department's disability would probably last until that shyster could reach a negligence settlement with the company that owned the building D's father had lived in. He kept saying how they'd somehow conveniently overlooked that the fit-out for his penthouse suite bore no resemblance to any building codes, and that he wanted to string them up for it. It was easy to blame most of the injuries he and Agent Howell had taken on the destruction caused by the blast. Easier, certainly, than convincing anybody that there'd been a primeval jungle in a downtown high rise, and once he had that settlement…he'd be able to leave the department behind.

Leon sat a bit straighter in his chair, taken by the scope of the idea. This would be the greatest case he'd ever undertaken, tracking a suspect who could be literally anywhere in the world. It would be a true test of his abilities—it would be _fascinating._

He could find the bastard, and put all this to rest.

With that, Leon broke into a smile, his first in many weeks. He reached over to pick up the phone because, after all, today was Christmas and he needed to call his little brother.


End file.
